During the spring thaw, when the hills in Appenze11 are clad in a patchwork of green and white, buckets filled with water glide slowly up and down the slope. The gentle movement ultimately becomes a tumultuous cadence. Shots are fired, riddling the buckets with bullet holes. The water gradually begins to flow. This is the climax of a ritual, whose beginnings lie deep within the mountain. As the water is propelled through the air to the melting slopes, the water begins to gush forth, until the fountain in the valley almost overflows.
